


Black Honey

by loserless



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Cinematic Universe, Gotham (TV)
Genre: But Damn Is He SEXY, Death, Depression, Dub Con/Non Con Elements, Ed Is A VILLAIN, Ed Is NOT A GOOD GUY, Edward Nygma x Reader - Freeform, Edward Nygma x You, F/F, F/M, Good Girl vs. Bad Guy, Gotham, Gotham City Police Department, Handcuffs, Multiple Partners, Multiple Personalities, Murder, NSFW, Nobody Likes Riddles, Obsessive Behavior, Paranoia, Poor Reader, Possessive Behavior, Reader-Insert, Sadism, Sex, Smut, Strong Female Characters, Substance Abuse, The Riddler x Reader - Freeform, The Riddler x You, Torture, Trauma, Workplace Sex, ed is mean, real torture, workplace bullying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-15 10:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9231743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loserless/pseuds/loserless
Summary: He was - keyword here: was - harmless. Workplace bullying, apparently, wasn't. Sometimes, the badness that you put into the world finds its way back to you, exponentially stronger than before. People were going to regret disrespecting Edward Nygma - starting with you. [02/08/17 - Renamed from "Once Scorned"]





	1. Cased

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading chapter one! I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a comment or a kudos if you would like me to continue. I have ideas. ;)  
> \- loserless

She kept a routine bounce in her step as she delivered fresh coffees to the waiting recipients, each one labeled appropriately with the owner’s name. The whirlwind of a woman popped in and out of office areas, leaving cardboard mugs on desks as she swept a path through the precinct. If one sat still enough, they could just make out the smell of raspberry perfume beneath the heavy scent of java. It would’ve been almost magical, that is, if she didn’t have one of the biggest mouths of anyone employed at the Gotham City Police Department. A strong voice carried far ahead of her, alerting all in the area of her presence.

The door to the records annex very nearly slammed open, startling the redhead that waited inside.

“AND A MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU, KRISTEN KRINGLE,” [Y/N] bellowed, proffering a coffee cup towards her fellow desk worker. Stunned silence filled the air for several moments before either of them even breathed.

Kristen clicked her tongue, trying to hold onto her aggravation with the other woman, before a smile broke across her face. She quietly accepted the cup from her friend, her eyes crinkling with mirth. “... I’m really, really trying to be mad at you - you know that, right?”

“C’mon? On  _ Christmas _ ? How could you possibly be mad at  _ anyone  _ on this blessed day?” [Y/N] asked, leaning over the record keeper’s desk with a dreamy look in her eyes.   
“Maybe because it’s October 16th,” Kristen murmured, taking an experimental sip of her drink before her face pinched together in dismay, “Peppermint. Of course it’s peppermint. It’s  _ not  _ Christmas, and my name isn’t  _ that  _ funny.”

But the one-woman tornado was already making her way out of the door, gurgles of laughter threatening to escape her berry-tinted lips.

She mentally filtered through the names of people who still needed their morning caffeine, and came to a stop at one that filled her with mild disgust.  _ Tom Doughtery.  _ Despite her clear dislike of the man, he’d been added to her list of patrons when Kristen had started dating him. [Y/N] felt morally responsible for her friend’s boyfriend’s coffee, even though she was sure that he was an absolute,  _ flaming  _ asshole.

Thus far, she could find no proof that Doughtery was as dastardly as she assumed he was, and so she continued to buy him the same, depressing black coffee every day. It didn’t matter if he wanted cream or sugar - [Y/N] wouldn’t get it for him.

She rounded the corner where his area was, and was greeted with an untouched, empty desk. Her eyes narrowed to little slits, a suspicious gaze casting across his things. Clearly, the man hadn’t made it into work. His jacket was absent from the back of his chair, his pens were still in a neat little line near his paperwork - there was simply no trace of him.

That meant she’d wasted department money on an absent man’s coffee.

[Y/N] stood for a moment, pondering this fact. Shortly afterwards, she realized it didn’t matter. She was paid to go on coffee runs and perform tedious errands - it mattered little to her whether the GCPD was losing pennies over their men not coming to work.

She gave the black coffee to a younger officer that she saw, figuring he hadn’t yet been allowed “coffee privileges” from the senior cops. The young man’s excited little grin warmed her heart, and she was back to her chipper self in a matter of seconds.

Her feet drew her towards her last stop - the forensics lab. She had made it a point to deliver there last - partly because the morgue weirded her out, and partly because Edward weirded her out.

Yes, it made her feel a little guilty, but she’d been a part of many Pick-On-Ed parties with the other men and women employed at the GCPD. Maybe she didn’t play an  _ active  _ part in them, but she definitely participated in the demonizing of the skinny scientist. Was it his lankiness? A little. Was it his wordplay? Definitely a factor. Was it his weird obsession with Kristen? Of course.

[Y/N] felt bad - sort of. But she figured what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

But Edward knew everything, didn’t he?

“Eggma - what’s new? Got any new dead bodies? Got any new riddles?” She exclaimed, practically bursting through the lab door with a coffee in hand, “Here’s your coffee, Eggy - black, one cream, one sugar, one ice cube, right?”

[Y/N] was greeted with silence. She glanced around the icy room, but there wasn’t a soul in sight.

She shivered almost violently when a door swung open to her left. Ed walked in, looking like he’d just changed out of his laboratory gear. An intense aura of agitation was clear in the way he crinkled his brow, in the way his nostrils flared, in the way he walked so stiffly.

“I told you that I didn’t appreciate being called that, Miss [Y/L/N],” He said, his words clipped and crystal-clear, “But thank you for the coffee, I suppose.”

[Y/N] shrugged at his attitude, her pre-determined notion of him was already ‘ _ weirdo _ ’, and this little interaction wasn’t changing that. “Yeah, whatever, Egg - where do you want this?”

His eyes narrowed dangerously, but he pointed towards a small table towards the far-west area of the room. Despite his better judgement - or the judgement of his  _ better half  _ \- he slinked after her as she moved to drop off his drink.

As she turned to leave the lab, [Y/N] was greeted by the impossibly tall frame of Edward Nygma, standing hardly three inches in front of her. On instinct, the woman stilled, stiffened, pointedly avoiding his gaze as she pretended to scrutinize his tie. “What?” She snapped, not meaning to show how obviously threatened she felt by his closeness.

“I’m getting a little tired of being treated like that,” He started, moving closer to the offending female before him, “I’m getting a little tired of  _ you  _ treating me like that.”

[Y/N] moved backward to accommodate the angry man that seemed insistent on invading her space. “Of  _ me _ ? I called you a stupid nickname. Get ahold of yourself, man,” She rebutted, changing her direction just slightly, so as to avoid running into the wall.

Ed lashed a hand out next to her, enjoying the flinch he got in return. With her route of escape cut off, he pushed in closer to her until his body was flush with hers.  _ More  _ than flush, even. It was like he was trying to completely press her body into the wall.

She made a move to push him away, but had hardly the room, the strength, nor the leverage to make him budge. Her hands sat uselessly between her chest and his, the only layer of defense she could manage. [Y/N] felt one of his long legs rest between her own, and tried to ignore the feeling of warmth that roiled quietly in her stomach. “What the  _ fuck  _ is your problem?” She hissed, looking to her left and right as if it would distract her from the outline of his cock against her pelvis.

“I don’t think you need to worry about  _ my  _ problem,” He breathed, leaning his head down to brush his lips against her ear, “You think it’s okay to disrespect me? Why is that, huh?” Edward bit at the loose skin of her earlobe, leaving a long stripe of saliva from there to the shell.

“What? What are you even-”

“Is it a peer thing? Everyone makes fun of Ed, so that must make it okay, right? It’s just a joke. It’s just to fit in, right?” He ranted, his voice surprisingly low and sultry for his level of aggravation. It was almost as if he’d transcended himself, his consciousness coming to rest somewhere far different than he, or anyone else, was used to.

She cringed at his accusations, angling her ear away from his mouth, only to have him begin his assault on the other side. “Listen, I’m really sorry. I didn’t know it bothered you that-”

He cut her off again, “I’m not the only one they talk about here, you know. Not a lot of things escape my attention, Miss [Y/L/N].” Tense, horrible silence filled the space between the two adults, the explorations of the taller man’s tongue being the only sound they could hear, just above [Y/N]’s heavy breathing. Edward shifted his thigh further towards her core, even the slightest pressure making her entire body start to hum. “Would you like to know what people say about  _ you _ ?”

[Y/N] couldn’t find it in her to respond to his taunting, it was hard enough trying not to rut against his long, slender leg as it rubbed the sensitive skin of her sex.

“They say that you’re  _ obnoxious _ , that they can’t stand to listen to your voice, but that it’s simply too  _ loud  _ to ignore. People  _ love  _ it when you call in sick. The whole precinct is quieter without you here,” Edward crooned, running a cold hand up his coworker’s thigh. She’d worn a lovely skirt that day, all pleats and plaid, coming to rest just above her knees. Some would probably say she’d dressed a little too  _ flirty  _ for a government job. “You want to know what else they say?”

“No. I want  _ you  _ to get away from  _ me _ ,  **_Eggma_ ** ,” [Y/N] retorted childishly, but made no move to remove herself from the situation. She could feel sweat bead up on the back of her neck, and her fingers curled into lapels of his suit coat, subconsciously drawing him closer - if that was even possible.

He tsked at her in a mocking fashion, sucking idly at a spot on her jawline. “Oh, we both know you don’t want that, don’t we?” Edward started, “See, the people here, they think you’re  _ easy _ . Nobody here is sure if you haven’t fucked  _ everyone  _ in the building. Isn’t that a little desperate of you?” His knee pressed harder against her clitoral hood, practically driving [Y/N] up the wall. “I, for one, can say that I haven’t had the  _ pleasure  _ of fucking you,” Ed drawled, pushing her face to better meet his eyes, “But I’m sure we could remedy that.”

“Who the  _ fuck  _ do you think you-”

For the third time, he didn’t let her finish her sentence, pulling the skin of her neck between his teeth and roughly rolling it across his incisors. The towering man ignored her screech of discomfort, continuing his ministrations until a horrible, mottled bruise rested just beneath her jaw. While she seethed in discomfort, he admired his handiwork, the little broken blood vessels seeming to swim together as she breathed in and out. Her hands clung to his back for balance, trying to get a grip on the long plane of his spine as his wandering fingers snuck their way towards her panties.

She let out a moan, feeling him palm her through her undergarment, and [Y/N] pushed against his hand, trying to get as much friction as she could manage.

Without a word of warning, he pulled away from her completely, settling his glasses back on his face as swiftly as he’d taken them off - something she’d failed to notice. Ed smiled tightly at the hot, bothered woman before him. “Hm. Seems like everyone was right about you, then.”

She didn’t respond, only panting as she felt at her neck for the fresh, throbbing wound the scientist had given her.

“Thank you, again, for the coffee, anyways. I have work to do, so I need you to leave.”

And [Y/N] did, reluctantly, keeping her hand pressed to her hickie the whole way out.


	2. Revisited

She made it a point to avoid Edward after that fateful encounter in the forensics lab. For awhile, she neglected to deliver him needed papers, forms, and bagged evidence, but _especially_ not coffee. Anything he needed was delivered through several third-party hands - she felt that separation by proxy would keep her safest. Despite what he’d insinuated when he so rudely belittled and mocked her, [Y/N] had plenty of friends that were willing to help her avoid the man. She’d reserved the details of their entanglement, but had admitted that he simply made her too uncomfortable to interact with. Her friends were all-too-eager to help out - it gave them another opportunity to sneer at his lanky frame and play keep-away with his things.

It was painfully obvious that her avoidance of him was causing more grief than he’d previously been used to, but her heart was hardened against pitying the man. Tears burned in her sinuses when she thought of the way he’d spoken to her. She’d always prided herself in being a strong woman, and she was _sure_ that she still was. That didn’t mean she was invincible to the crudeness of his insults.

Even moreso, [Y/N] could feel an insatiable ache in her body at the thought of him pressing against her most private of places.

She felt it when she walked by the lab. She felt it when his name showed up in her stack of papers to sort through. She felt it when her coworkers murmured his name in conversation.

And _god_ , did she try to get rid of it. The woman tried masturbating - she did it almost every day now, as opposed to a couple times a month. She tried masturbating in the bathrooms _at work_ . She tried to get off at her desk. At one point, she’d done it in front of her window at home, the curtains drawn back for all to see - though hardly anyone was outside that night. Not even the bodies of other people could stagnate her oppressive urges, and she tried _several_ of her most-frequented bedmates.

At first she’d invited a man named Kyle to her apartment. He was the officer she’d gifted Tom’s coffee to those few weeks ago, and while he was a tender, excellent lover, his gentleness wasn’t what she needed. (Speaking of _Tom_ \- he’d mysteriously vanished from Gotham. [Y/N] couldn’t help but feel elated that her dear friend wouldn’t be dating him anymore, though her chest ached to see Kristen so heartbroken.)

Next, she’d tried a bodacious, beautifully soft woman by the name of _Chrysanthemum_ . She was like an angel sent straight from the heavens, complete with a name that could make the devil weep. The larger lady had a touch that far-surpassed any single man she’d ever been with, but no orgasm she’d drawn from [Y/N] could silence her overwhelming thirst for one _particular_ man’s cock.

There was Steven, there was Walter, there was Rosa, there was Quinten - hell, one time she’d managed to get a threesome out of Chrysanthemum _and_ Quinten! But no amount of glorious, passionate, safe, consensual sex made her feel the way that absolute _tease_ Edward Nygma had.

Eventually, she gave up, and though she frequently mooned over Chryssie (as [Y/N] had come to call her), her thoughts were otherwise _entirely_ taken up by the scientist.

Today, however, was a different story.

The excitable young woman stood in the ladies’ restroom, fumbling with the tiny keyboard of her flip phone as she tried to type out a message. Tears were welling up in her eyes, but she tried her best to blink them away. It had definitely been a stressful few weeks, but this was the shitty icing on the crapcake.

Kristen hadn’t come to the precinct in nearly a workweek. Four days now, and counting, with _no_ word from her. At least… No word until _today_.

A letter had been left - assumably by her - describing that she’d fled Gotham to be with Tom Dougherty. That _absolute bastard_ had no business being with sweet, perky Kristen Kringle, but that was the least of [Y/N]’s worries.

The format of the note, the writing, the details it contained - it was entirely too similar to the one that her absent friend had shown her from ‘Tom’.

Not to mention, there was the haunting message hidden in the workings of the original letter. She hadn’t even noticed it until Kristen had pointed it out.

 **_Nygma_ **.

The thought made her want to throw up.

It didn’t help that Ed and Kris had been glued at the hip following Tom’s departure. [Y/N] had been invited several times to get lunch or to have dinner with them, but she’d made a myriad excuses not to show up. Kristen had begun to tire of her antics, and she’d more than realized how horrible her friend was treating her new beau, but after daily insistence that nothing was wrong, she dropped the subject.

Now Kristen was gone, Tom was gone - and who remained? Nygma himself. All signs pointed to him, but how could she prove that? Ed had an in with Jim Gordon, whom had become one of the most - _kind of_ \- respected officers in the GCPD, despite his controversial stand in police politics. She was just a desk woman - how could she make criminal accusations towards the man that had thus far been extremely adept in _solving_ crimes, as opposed to _committing_ them.

Not to mention, she had no idea where the original note was. She’d been in the annex for over an hour that day, and there was _no_ trace of that crucial piece of parchment.

Frustrated, she clapped her phone closed, shoving it in the waistband of her knee-length poodle skirt. She made a concerted effort not to make eye-contact with anyone as she moved through the police department. [Y/N] knew that if she did, she wouldn’t be able to fight the urge to cry. It was plain to see that the woman was distressed, but her coworkers quietly moved out of her way. They’d gotten used to the broodiness she’d been displaying as of late, and though her sullen attitude threw them off, she still had the lungs of a gym teacher and the tenacity of a defense attorney. No one wanted to mess with her - she was a ticking time bomb, all hormones, emotions, and vigor.

Trying to clear her head, she shuffled through the mail tray that sat on her desk, looking for easy tasks to complete. Almost immediately, Edward’s name popped up in the mix. She recoiled from the papers as if they’d burned her, eyeing the company nearby to see if they noticed any flinching. They appeared to be engrossed in their own work. [Y/N] sighed shakily, but grabbed his deliveries from the stack, filling out the appropriate forms on the document before she went looking for a proxy delivery person.

Kyle was the first sucker she came across.

She brightened a little at the sight of him, coming around to his side to land a small peck on his warm, brown cheek. The pair shared a short embrace, before the young woman gave him a tooth-achingly sweet smile from behind a pair of cherry-red lips.

“Kyle, would you be a dear and find someone to take this to Mr. Nygma?” She asked, practically purring out her request as she stood on her toes to better look him in the eyes.

The fresh-faced officer couldn’t offer his help fast enough, taking the manila folder from her hands as she held it out to him. “Yeah, sure, I’d be happy to help! I think I saw Ed earlier, but I’ll have someone make the switch for ya’,” He accepted, practically beaming as he moved into action.

[Y/N]’s cheeks burned with joy, then with amusement, and then with shame. Her lips pursed, threatening to fall into a frown as she made her way back to her desk.

Was she really that _easy_? Was she using these people for her own gain?

Was she really such a _coward_ that she couldn’t face Edward by herself?

Another wave of emotion threatened to take her by storm, and so she gathered back up her phone and made her way to the restroom, this time taking the extra walk to the lower level. It was _much_ more private in the downstairs staff rooms. Nobody had the extra time, nor the patience, to make their way so deep into the building just to use the facilities.

She held her phone tightly against her cheek, listening to the tell-tale dialing noises ring endlessly into her ear. The woman perched herself on the edge of a toilet seat, safely locked into one of the stalls.

She called once.

She called twice.

She called _three_ times, but only ever got an answering machine.

[Y/N] breathed unevenly as she left a message for her beloved friend, “Kristen? It’s me - [Y/N]. I’m _really_ worried about you. I understand if you… If you felt the need to get away, but you didn’t even tell me where you were _going_ …” She paused, tears flowing freely from eyes that were heavily laced with her favorite mascara.

“We got your note, but it’s… It’s just… It doesn’t make _sense_ , you know? I’m really, _really_ worried that something happened to you. What I want more than anything is to hear your voice, and I’m scared that I’m never going to aga-” Her words got choked out by her heavy sobs, and she cried into the receiver without restraint, “I swear to god, if **_he_** did anything to hurt you, I’m going to make sure he never touches another person again - I’ll make sure he doesn’t even _breathe_ near another human being, let alone touch them.”

She quieted her ranting, hearing the words echoing harshly around the closed restroom, reverting backward to sting in her ears. “I love you so, _so_ much. I hope you’re safe. Please call me back, or text me, or - _anything_. Please, Kristen. I miss you.”

[Y/N] let her phone close slowly, dabbing at her tears with a piece of bunched-up toilet paper. She heard the bathroom door creak open and swing closed behind someone, and she decided that she’d sulked more than enough for one day.

Upon leaving the stall, she was met with a sight so terrifying that she felt her heart might come flying out of her chest. A screech escaped her lips as her frantic gaze flitted over the towering form of Edward Nygma. [Y/N]’s hand flew up to cover her mouth as she backed further into the dimly-lit room, watching him carefully as his nimble fingers flicked the inside lock shut on the toilet’s exit. Her free hand searched behind her wildly as she looked for some sort-of weapon - anything she could use to strike him with, but there appeared to be nothing available - at least, nothing that wasn’t bolted to the walls or the floor.

Words flew out from her being before she could even think of a way to address him, “What the _fuck_ are you doing in here? Are you out of your mind?”

He didn’t respond, only stepping slowly towards her, his hands up as if to show that he meant no harm.

She didn’t believe him. “Don’t you come any closer to me-”

“Or what? What will you do? Scream? Hit me?” Edward cut her off, his hands still held up complacently, his lab coat hanging off his lean form, “I’m not going to hurt you - I don’t know where you’re getting that idea.”

“Oh bullshit - you remember the last time we met. You had me up against the wall!” [Y/N] rebutted, her voice beginning to get shrill. As if her words were tempting reality, she felt her heels bump into the wall opposite Ed, opposite the exit, opposite the _only_ source of freedom from this crazy man.

He continued towards her, not dropping his hands once.

She was relentless in her verbal assault, sliding along the wall as he crept closer, “Not to mention, you just _locked us in here_ , as if that isn’t the most suspicious move _ever_ . I’m uncomfortable with you being near m-” The scared young woman cut herself off as her attacker’s steps grew more meaningful, her voice reaching into decibels she knew that no one else would hear, despite how loud she was screaming, “DO NOT COME _ANY_ CLOSER TO ME, EDWARD _FUCKING_ NYGMA!”

Eddie had easily cornered her again, standing only a few feet in front of [Y/N] as she pressed herself against the cold piping behind her, a ceramic sink blocking the only other means of escape.

He could plainly see that the woman was shaking, her body quivering violently against his presence, and he hadn’t even _touched_ her yet. His eyes narrowed with scrutiny as he gazed at the cell phone clutched in her hand. “I think you might be a little high-strung right now, Miss [Y/L/N]. I don’t want you hurting yourself. Why don’t you give me the phone, and I’ll call for some help?”

“You know exactly what you’re doing, you asshole! I’ll call for help _my damn self_!”

Ed completely lost his innocuous demeanor as she made a move to call 911 - ironic that she needed to call them from inside the police department, he mentally noted. The taller man closed the gap between the pair, snatching the cell from her quaking hands as he pushed her closer in towards the pipes.

Her hands groped towards his visage, hoping to give him a good clawing and to make a run for it, but he acted much faster than she did.

Both of her wrists fit easily in one of his large palms, and he held her arms above her head as his free one went to his coat pocket. The tinkling of metal could be heard as he dragged a pair of handcuffs into sight, making the already manic woman go _completely_ ballistic. She thrashed violently against him, lashing out with whatever body part she could manage, but her legs were trapped beneath his, and her hands she just couldn’t pull free.

That only left her head, then.

And _boy_ , did she try her hardest to hurt him. She neck craned harshly as she tried to bite at the arm that held her, but quickly gave up as he further pulled himself out of reach. In another frantic attempt at escaping his grasp, [Y/N] slammed her head forward, only meeting his shoulder as he easily avoided the attack. The woman went back to screeching as he cuffed her wrists to the water pipeline, a sturdy metal bracket keeping her from pulling them downward.

Edward leaned back, if only for a moment, to catch an eyeful of his handiwork. He had to admit it - seeing this vivacious female reduced to a quivering mess was incredibly gratifying.

It would be even moreso gratifying to hear her beg for his touch - and he _knew_ she would. [Y/N] was a fool if she thought he didn’t see her desperation grow in the time that followed after he’d felt her up. He saw the way her face flushed as she left the break room, having just spent several minutes too long in the otherwise empty commons area. He saw the men that would drop her off for work in the morning. He saw the kisses she shared with other women as her dates paid her _disgustingly_ cute visits.

If it hadn’t been for his dating Kristen, he might’ve acted sooner, but that was only what the _other_ Edward wanted, at the time. Now that they worked in unison, now that his original love was out-of-the-picture, it was so much easier to give into the desire to make this woman _his._ Not for sentimental keeping, mind you.

By the second, she could feel the fight leaving her system. This absolutely insane man had her cuffed to the pipes in the bathroom, and it seemed like _no one_ was around to hear her cries for help. Why had she decided to use the basement bathrooms? She’d never know, but she’d curse herself for that decision until the day she died. Which, at this moment, felt closer than she would have liked.

Later, she’d be hard-pressed to think that dying would’ve been the better outcome.

[Y/N] sunk, the rest of her body hanging off of her restrained wrists. She felt the steel biting into her skin, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Why hadn’t she dealt with him _sooner_ ? Had she really just waited for _him_ to come to _her_? Perhaps this could have all been avoided. They could have met in a much more public place, with people around in case she needed to be rescued. She could have told Kristen about their previous meeting - maybe she would have been protected from whatever fate she’d met.

Edward watched tears bubble up in her eyes again, relishing in the knowledge that it had taken so little effort to break her. Still, he felt somewhat disappointed. If he had simply breathed her way, she would have crumbled for him. He stepped forward once more, pulling her upright as she sluggishly tried to move away from him. She looked at him, eyelids heavy with defeat, but not empty of a certain carnal need.

“Are you really so desperate that being cuffed to a pipe is getting you off?” He asked lowly, pulling the tucked-in blouse from under her skirt as he ran his large hands beneath her breasts, “You’re even more pathetic than I thought you were.”

[Y/N] couldn’t tell if her stomach was churning with nausea or with desire. She felt hot with shame, her back arching into his touch as he unclipped her bra and felt the hardened peaks of her nipples. It didn’t help that he was _all_ she dreamt about for weeks now. It didn’t help that he was tall and handsome and clever in _all_ the ways that made her toes curl. It didn’t help that he had the capacity to be so rough and demanding with her body, and it definitely didn’t help that being restrained like this was feeding into **_all_ ** the dirty, secret fantasies she’d had since she was only just starting to discover herself sexually.

 _Fuck_ , he was the perfect package.

Something snapped inside of her, her spine straightening out as a more-potent shiver wracked through her system. Her head was so clouded with lust, she couldn’t think of anything else, but she forced herself to. She _had_ to. This wasn’t about her (at least, not to [Y/N]) - this was about her missing friend.

Conversely, the tall, wiry man thought nothing of his ~~missing~~  dead girlfriend. This was _entirely_ about [Y/N], regardless of what the woman in question thought of the situation.

Her gaze was determined as she leaned forward, his forehead touching hers as she spoke, “ _Where’s Kristen_?”

Ed’s only reply was to hike up her skirt, his right hand searching greedily for her panties as his left grasped tightly to her breast. The woman squirmed under his touch, pelvic muscles already clenching as she felt his fingertips - just as cold as she remembered - run just slightly beneath her underwear, skimming along the top of her pubes.

“Haven’t trimmed in a while, have you?” He asked condescendingly, smoothing his digits over the apex of her thighs, “That’s alright with me.” Edward murmurs, his breath hot on her ear as he roughly grips the mound of curly hairs, “I’ve always liked a little more to hold on to…”

[Y/N] whimpers as he tugs on her pubic hair, something she probably would’ve found unattractive in any other man, his gaze burning into hers with such intensity that she could feel sweat bead up on her neck. Saliva pools around her tongue, but she swears her mouth has never felt so dry.

 _How did I get here? What the_ **_hell_ ** _is going on?_ Her head screamed, though it was hardly an afterthought to the chronic, unbidden lust she was plagued with. It had always been her vice; [Y/N] knew few demons, but sex had become one of them.

His fingers rang along her outer labia, spreading her secretions around the hot skin. Edward could feel her arch towards him, the female’s eyes screwed tightly shut against his ministrations. He frowned at her display, removing his hand from her cunt and grabbing at the back of her neck to tilt her head forward. “No, no, no - none of that. Keep your eyes on me, or I’ll stop touching you... Maybe even leave you here,” Ed deliberated, patting her cheek hard enough to startle her, “Would you like that?”

Reluctantly, she peeled open her lids, hardly having the stomach to admit to herself that she was so hopelessly, _achingly_ needy for him. After a moment of heated silence, she realized he was waiting for a response. Weakly, she shook her head.

The lithe man smiled - not a very nice smile, but a smile. He leaned into her form, putting unneeded stress on her wrists that made her cry out in pain. She stood on her toes in an attempt to relieve herself of his burden, tears bowling their way down her face.

Edward paid no attention to her plight, pressing her harder into the piping as he slipped a long finger into her vagina. [Y/N] spasmed around his digit, her legs curling together as if to keep him from removing his hand. A chuckle wound its way past his lips that were pressed so tightly to her throat.

“And I thought that _I_ was the greedy one, here,” He commented huskily, his finger slowly circling inside of her, “But you don’t get to make the demands, sweetheart. That’s my job.” His feet kicked her legs apart, spreading her open for him once again.

She couldn’t help but groan, missing the heat of her own thighs against her swollen sex. Her gaze was unfocused, but she tried not to look away from Edward. It was hard for her to acknowledge how kind and complacent he used to be. What had happened between then and now that had her restrained in a cold, concrete bathroom with his fingers up her snatch? She sucked on her tongue, trying to ignore his teeth on her neck, trying to ignore the second intrusion she felt below.

[Y/N] panted, her hips rising and falling with his movements. The warmth in her body was suffocating, but she was beginning to feel a worm at the back of her head. She entertained it briefly, falling back against the pipes as his hand left her crotch. Slowly, surely, the worm evolved, and a picture swam in the cracks of her mind - a snippy, warm-hearted woman who only wanted to feel safe and cared-for. Her red hair was perfectly curled into soft rolls, and she smiled like love hadn’t been handing her bad cards for the longest time. The image of Kristen suddenly scowled, and dissipated with the figment’s switch in mood.

Her lungs felt like they were on fire. [Y/N] gasped for breath between painful, full-body sobs. She was caught in the limbo of desire and disgust, the two forces threatening to tear her limb-from-limb.  Distantly, she heard the sound of a zipper. Distantly, she heard the sound of her best friend being pulled completely out of her reach. She let it happen. It was her fault. She _let him_ get in the way of their friendship, because she was just _too cowardly_ to keep Kristen safe, to check up on her.

 _Remember what he did, remember who he is_ \- _you_ **_have_ ** _to, you owe her that much._

Lips curled back over her teeth, she tried to muster the ferocity that roiled quietly in her stomach. Anger flooded through her veins as she watched him pull his cock free from his pants. He tossed himself silently as she made a frantic search for the right words to say.

She stuttered through the start of her words, the tightness of tears in her throat making her voice sound much less intimidating than she would have liked, “Are you… Are you even gonna _try_ to answer me?” Hot, shameful self-loathing filled up the cavity of her chest as she watched the mirth spread across his features, further fueling her sobs. “ _I get it_ , Nygma - I’m a _slut._ You don’t have to rub it in anymore.”

“I’m glad we could agree on something, _slut_ ,” He deadpanned, stepping closer to her.

[Y/N] met his advance easily, letting him wrap her legs around his waist as he lined himself up at her slit. She was practically hanging off of the handcuffs now, clinging onto him desperately for support. Still, she thought of Kristen. “You _can’t_ do this - I know you did something to her. I won’t let you get awa-”

He cut her off by pressing his dick into her, his entrance coming without warning, though he entered slowly. She gasped, choking out another sob as her walls clenched around him hungrily, her legs tightening and shaking as he bottomed out. The feeling of his warmth stretching her out, the touch of his head at her cervix - it was all she had thought about her weeks.

Edward let out another throaty, sultry laugh, feeling her flutter around his thickness, and he’d only _just_ penetrated her core. He ignored the want to fuck her fast and hard in exchange for the need to watch her squirm. His hand brushed along her clitoral hood, pressing and rubbing down on the sensitive nerves that ran so deep through her body.

She didn’t last fifteen more seconds.

[Y/N] stayed wrapped around him post-orgasm, sweating and tired and humiliated. She couldn’t even look at him, but she knew he was looking at her. Her body was oversensitive, heated. On one hand, she wanted to cry harder with relief, but on the other hand - he was still completely hard within her spasming vagina.

He waited until her eyes were back on him before he spoke, a knowing tone in his voice. “Did you enjoy that?”

She sputtered, her mouth opening and closing several times as she felt him rock against her. Finally, she decided on silence.

Ed sucked on her collarbone idly for a moment, before pulling out and thrusting harshly into her once more. “I wanna hear you say it.”

The bound woman’s lips pressed tightly together, her climax having cleared her head considerably. Tears welled up for the umpteenth time that day, the sliding of skin against skin and the caress of his tongue only becoming background noise to the horrible reality that had set in.

[Y/N] sniffled quietly, her head lolling back against the wall behind her. “... She’s dead, isn’t she? You killed her.”

He fucked her in the ground-zero of her question, the implications spreading over them like the waves of radiation after a nuclear holocaust. She thought she felt herself cum a second time, shortly before Edward did, but she couldn’t be too sure. Nothing felt real anymore, especially not when she had an extremely probable murderer inside her pussy.

Ed didn’t bother to help the woman clean herself as he stuffed his cock back into his pants, checking in the nearby mirror to see that his hair hadn’t shifted too much.

She stood, slumped over in the corner of the room that she had become all-too-familiar with over the past - how long had it been? Maybe a half an hour? Her bra was unclipped, still clinging loosely to her body as it hung from her shoulders, visible from the opened buttons of her untucked blouse. She could feel his semen leaking out into the underwear that he hadn’t even bothered to remove, and on impulse, she ran through her morning routine to check that she’d taken her birth control. Thankfully, she had.

“I’m going to give you a riddle. Your answer will decide what happens to you next,” Edward started, casting an enthusiastic grin her way as his fished in his trouser pocket for something.

[Y/N] groaned to herself, her eyes rolling so hard she thought they might fall from their sockets. She was terrible at riddles - trivia in general, really, but there was no fighting him. “Okay.”

He was chipper as he recited to her, “When I turn around once, what is out will not get in. When I turn around again, what is in will not get out. _What am I_?”

Tongue smacking loudly around in her mouth, she spat into the sink beside her before returning her glare to the man before her. His shit-eating grin was overwhelmingly asinine. “Can’t you give me a break? I’ve got your jizz in my cooch, isn’t that enough?”

Ed chortled, clapping his hands together excitedly. “Is that your final answer?”

She glanced up at the ceiling, feeling the waterworks again, but there simply were no tears left to be shed. Weakly, [Y/N] replied, “Yeah. That’s it.”

“Well, that’s very obviously _wrong_ , but I applaud you for participating,” He gloated, moving to pull her skirt back up.

“ _Hey_ , what the hell are you-”

His fingers found their way back to her well-used cunt, and she felt him press something foreign deep into her snatch. It was small, it was cold, and it was solid. He pulled his hand back out, taking the time to settle her underwear back over her privates, tugged it upwards so her thong rode into her asscrack.

And with that, he walked towards the door, an unmistakable bounce in his little, psychotic steps.

If she thought she was out of tears, she was wrong. They immediately started flowing as she tried to call him back. “No, no, no, _no_ ,” Her pleading started, “ _Please_ don’t leave me here. I, I’m, uh - I don’t even know if anyone knows I’m down here. _Nobody_ uses these toilets. My shift ends soon - _wait_!”

Edward didn’t even look twice at her, simply stepping out of the bathroom and moving down the hall. She could hear his shoes clack proudly on the concrete flooring, getting farther and farther away until they were heard no more.

[Y/N] chewed harshly on her lip, hysteria rising once again into her chest. “God _fucking_ **_dammit_ **!” She shrieked, relentlessly pulling and tugging on the cuffs as if she had the strength to pry steel apart with force alone.

Tears rolled down her rashy, dry cheeks, skin having felt the abuse of her emotions for _far_ too long that day. They pooled at her chest, soaking into her shirt as she failed to catch them.

She’d let this happen. Should she have fought harder when they met the first time? Should she have told someone what happened after it did? Should she have spoken to him _long_ beforehand? Should she have checked on Kristen more? It had become so hard to get close to her as Ed had manipulated and corralled [Y/N]’s friend into his grasp. She should have been there for her when Tom left. She should have seen what Edward was doing. He forced all her loved ones out of her life just so he could fulfill his obsessive, _sick_ boyfriend fantasy with a woman who deserved nothing but the world.

She _let_ him do that to her. All those times she’d been invited to dinner - [Y/N] could have gone! She could have stuck close to her side, she could have listened to her, she could have protected her.

Could-haves and should-haves wrestled endlessly with each other as her self-esteem devolved inside her cranium. It was her fault, it was her fault, _it was her fault_.

And who would believe her now? Someone would find her down here eventually, and she’d be promptly fired - possibly even fined for indecent exposure. There wasn’t a single person who would respect her, let alone listen to her _murder accusations_. Not to mention the very real chance that Ed might finish her off - especially for being a snitch.

Hopeless. That’s how she felt. Desolate. Empty. Defeated.

She was there for over an hour.

And then the footsteps returned, reverberating tauntingly in her eardrums. They didn’t sound prideful. They sounded cautious - _hasty_ , even. What’s more? The tell-tale sign of patent heels on hard floor.

[Y/N] cried with relief at the realization that _someone_ was here to save her. It didn’t matter who, at this point, so long as it wasn’t Nygma.

The door opened slowly, a shiny black stiletto poking into the room. Finally, a familiar face emerged from the hall.

“ _[Y/N]_! What the hell happened to you?” Chrysanthemum asked, immediately rushing towards her lover. She wrapped her arms quickly around the restrained woman before pulling back to assess the situation. “Are you hurt? Who did this to you?”

She could only continue crying. The warmth of her friend against her was possibly the best thing she’d ever felt in her lifetime.

“Oh, honey - your wrists… Hang on, wait one second, I’ll go get help!” Chryssie pulled her own cell phone out from her polka-dot covered purse, an intensely focused look on her face.

“No! No, no, you can’t leave. Don’t call anyone. You can’t call anyone. I’ll be fired - maybe arrested,” [Y/N] quickly interjected, earning an alarmed look from the larger woman.

Her friend was angry with concern, “ _What_? Then how the hell are you supposed to get uncuffed, you idiot! We need help.” She turned back to her phone.

“Chryssie - please… I have the keys…” Her eyes rolled skywards, cheeks burning.

“Well, where are they?” Chrysanthemum stepped towards her once more, voice soft again.

[Y/N] pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, coughing and sputtering on sobs that she couldn’t keep down. Finally, she caved, “It’s… It’s in my vagina.”

Chryssie paused for a moment, looking bewildered, but she saw the shame and suffering in her friend’s face, and didn’t comment. The woman’s warm hand slowly rolled her skirt up, fishing the keys from her body. She didn’t speak as she reached up to undo the cuffs.

Almost immediately after release, [Y/N] fell to the ground, curling in on herself. The other female followed her down, tugging her into her arms as she shushed her gently.

They stayed like that for a long time, just holding each other as the one tried to regain her stability. Tender hands undid the feeble woman’s shirt, moving to put her bra back in its place. She reclosed the blouse, helping her friend tuck it back into her wrinkled poodle skirt.

As they walked down the hall, the pair never separated, fingers entwined tightly.

“Who - who told you I was down there?” [Y/N] suddenly asked, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Chrysanthemum answered soothingly, “I’m not sure. It was a man. Very tall. Horn-rimmed glasses. He was nice.”

They had to take another few minutes in the hall before they could move on.

[Y/N] promptly left the precinct, not letting anyone know where she was going, or allowing anyone to see her. The women left through the backdoor, taking a taxi to the traumatized woman’s apartment. They didn’t stay long, only stopping to gather some things for an extended stay, before they hailed another vehicle to take them to Chryssie’s home.

The pair laid in bed together, warm and safe under the covers.

Chryssie hummed softly into [Y/N]’s hair, smoothing her hand along her friends back, painting wide circles on the plane of her spine. She didn’t ask for details, she didn’t ask for her to explain herself.

But [Y/N] needed some closure. “If you ever meet that man again - the one with the glasses… His name is Ed - Edward Nygma… _Please_ , please promise me that you will run far, far away.”

The other woman only nodded, cradling her friend closer to her.


	3. Taunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I split this part into two sections, because the original document is closing in on 10,000 words... It's a mess, and there's no Ed in this part, but he is heavily mentioned. Next part (Edward heavy) will be up in a day or two. Please let me know what you think! :)  
> \- loserless

[Y/N] never made a return to her post at the GCPD. She didn’t tell them she wasn’t coming in, she didn’t tell them she was quitting, and she _definitely_ didn’t tell them _why_ . Surely they had tried contacting her cell phone - not that she could answer it, considering it had been _stolen_. The precinct had tried calling her home phone as well, but in the past weeks, she’d completely moved in with Chrysanthemum. Every time she returned to pack more things, she’d see the blinking light on the answering machine, but could not gather the guts to check her messages.

The only employee that ever got ahold of her was Kyle - and he was more than happy to keep his mouth shut for a chance at spending more time with a woman who never failed to make him smile. He’d brought her desk things to her, all bundled up in a little package so as not to break anything. All she’d really wanted was her coffee mug, but she was sure-as-shit happy to have _any_ of her stuff from work in the first place.

Kyle had asked if she wanted to spend the night at his home, but [Y/N] turned him down, explaining that she didn’t feel safe enough in Gotham to accept his offer. He pressed her for details, worried that she was in danger, but she shut him out. It hurt, just a little, to think of the kicked-puppy expression on his face as she closed her door for the night.

This was for his safety as much as it was for hers. Who knows what _his_ plans were as of late? Was he busy murdering someone else? Did he look for her? Was he still covering his tracks? Or even, blissfully, she wondered if justice was hot on his heels.

She shook those pleasant thoughts from her head - the man was a genius, if not a felon and a murderer - he wasn’t likely to get caught. Still, a little part of her was hopeful, and a large part of him was an egomaniac - he could get sloppy for the sake of narcissism.

There was nothing more in the world that she wanted than to meet him again so she could give him the beating of his life. If [Y/N] ever saw Edward again, however, she knew she’d either end up dead, kidnapped, or laid. None of those situations were ideal, since she figured fucking him would just feed into whatever sexual, and likely psychological, fixation he had with her (or maybe, it was herself with the fixation).

It didn’t matter - ~~it was the only thing that mattered~~ \- it _didn’t_ matter at all. She didn’t dwell on it - ~~it was the only thing she dwelled on~~ \- she _didn’t_ dwell on it at all.

Her head ran itself in circles, trying in vain to make her feel safe. ~~_Safe_? But being afraid was so much  _safer_.~~ Stay afraid, stay safe - that’s how it worked, right? It had been so long since the young woman had felt secure. Every single thought of Nygma was encapsulated entirely by fear - _especially_ when she was alone.

But sometimes, at night, she would feel her lover crawl into bed behind her, wrapping thick, warm, caring arms around [Y/N]’s middle - and no matter how hard she tried to concentrate on the feeling of Chrysanthemum breathing next to her, she only felt the cold, slender limbs of the forensic _murderer_ coiling tighter and tighter at her torso. Depending on her level of lucidity, she might feel the feathers of dark, unintelligible murmuring along her neck, or icy claws tiptoeing between her legs. And as she leaned into the heat of her lover, she couldn’t help but think of the anaconda drawing her deeper into its circle.

She’d often find herself in a state of sleep paralysis, unable to escape the nightmare, even though she knew it wasn’t real.

[Y/N] rarely slept anymore. Her girlfriend would cry with frustration, tired of seeing the traumatized young woman in a state of such despair. She offered her everything - a confidant, a therapist, medical help, a vacation, a night out - but most everything required leaving the comfort of the apartment building, and so her efforts were ineffective.

Drugs, however, were the one thing that helped. Most of her surplus cash was spent on weed, booze, and sleep meds. At first, Chrysanthemum wasn’t bothered by the blatant substance abuse, but after finding her lover puking in the toilet on one too many occasions, she started hiding all of her drug paraphernalia, leaving only a solitary beer in the fridge every morning.

[Y/N] noticed the sudden disappearance of her liquor, pills, and marijuana. In fact, for several days, most of her alone time was spent searching for her stash. She never found it, and hated herself too much to complain. When she wasn’t working at the coffee shop on the ground floor, she was sitting, stock-still, in the chair by the window, a lonely beer in one hand, and her head in the other. The TV would drone on in a nearby part of the room, filling in the empty spaces between morbid thoughts, and her eyes would lay steadfast on the church across the street.

In the midst of depression and the beginnings of a drug habit, a new development was forming - Jim Gordon was sent to Blackgate prison for a string of crimes that were suspiciously… Nygma-fied. [Y/N] spent the morning following that piece of news with her head hugging the porcelain throne, and a small handgun clutched in her fist. She wouldn’t let Chryssie leave for almost four _days_ , she was so petrified that she was next on his list. Eventually, she lacked both the emotional and physical strength to keep her girlfriend home with her.

The frayed woman was allowed _two_ beers and a _small_ glass of wine, provided that she accompany Chrysanthemum on at least _two_ outings per week. Begrudgingly, [Y/N] obliged, even going so far as to add an errand every _day_! Unfortunately, her daily trip was to the building next door, where she took up a gym membership, and started participating in self-defense classes.

It was “unfortunate”, being that the only reason for pushing herself was to try and keep her girlfriend safe from a man that she hadn’t seen in several weeks. Chryssie joined her on most gym days, intent on keeping the withering woman from hurting herself. At least she was more health-conscious now - the exercise kept up her appetite, which Chryss was sure to satiate with nutritious meals.

“ _Gotta keep your strength up, girly! Do it for me, if not for yourself._ ”

More weeks passed. More gym days. More coffee-making days. More staring-at-the-church days. More searching the apartment days. More snakes-around-her-waist days.

[Y/N] had long since reached a stalemate with someone she wasn’t even sure was still a player in their sick, little game.

The woman somehow refused to admit to herself that she was afraid - especially at this point in the situation. Sure, she got nervous if her girlfriend was a bit late coming home. Sure, she choked on her own heart when someone knocked on the door. And _sure,_ she checked the dark corners of their home for long, lanky men every morning, noon, evening, night, and each time she got home from any single errand - but that didn’t mean she was _scared_ , per say… Just… Unhealthily cautious.

It was getting to the point that she wished he would: a) kill her, b) kill himself, c) otherwise die, or d) get himself arrested.

And one glorious, partly-cloudy, snow-littered, chilly day - Edward Nygma selected option - drumroll, please - … “D”!

When her roommate returned home that day, she was concerned to find [Y/N] sobbing - not that it was unusual, however…  Tender hands caressed shaking shoulders, and she placed her head in the crook of her neck. “Honey… Baby?” She cooed, rubbing circles on her girlfriend’s arms, “Baby, what’s wrong? Can I help?”

The fragile woman’s body shook harder after the question, her tears soaking into the crumpled newspaper she had clutched in her fists. After another moment of tears, she relinquished hold of the paper, letting Chryssie take it.

“ _Jim Gordon Released As Cops Catch Correct Killer_.”

The couple were quiet for a moment before soft giggles started to rise from [Y/N]’s chest. Her giggles escalated in volume until she was practically howling with laughter, until her cackles became so loud that they could no longer even be heard.

It was infectious. Both women found themselves on the floor in a fit of hysteria, eyes clinched shut against their own giddiness. Nearly five minutes passed before either of them spoke.

The previously crying woman was the first to break the silence. “... That’s a lot of alliteration…”

…

They erupted once more into peeling squawks of laughter, and laid there, on the floor, for nearly an hour, content to simply hold each other.

She had Edward’s mugshot framed later that evening, tucking it carefully away in the bathroom cabinet, and a celebration was planned for the next night.

All of her friends came - the ones she’d spent months avoiding, the ones she’d alienated. When asked what the sudden cause for cheer was, [Y/N] would only grin wider, would only speak louder - it was like weeks of damage and shame had been lifted from her shoulders.

Everyone was ecstatic to see the woman they once knew act like herself again. She was ecstatic to smile again. When the bane of your existence was under lock and key, what more reason did you need to throw a party?

She wrote a card to Jim, feeling forever grateful for his work in the force. It took her a few tries to get it just right - half of the rewrites were because of her tears staining the page. She couldn’t tell him the real reason, but she could congratulate him on his regained freedom.

God save Gotham if Gordon should ever fall like that again. The people should shudder at the thought.

[Y/N] was bustling with energy now that Edward had been detained - she felt like she could conquer the world. That was… Until the Adderall wore off.

She came down from that high pretty hard, finding herself blearily wandering her apartment after spending an ungodly amount of time wide-awake. The road to _real_ recovery would be a long one, but it was nice to imagine, if only for a night, that she could feel like herself again. Chrysanthemum had flushed the leftover pills anyways.

_Tiny steps, then_ . [Y/N] thought positively, or at least _tried_ to. She figured that feeling down wouldn’t make her situation better. There were compulsions to avoid, paranoia to ignore - therapists to see, something she still refused to do.

The first item on her agenda was to visit someone she’d been meaning to see for far too long.

Solid, black leather boots sunk into the ground, her feet set firmly into the dark, damp earth, and her body turned towards the warm, grey headstone before her. The dirt, though it had begun to pack together, bore no grass, showcasing recently overturned soil. The woman’s face was solemn, her tongue twisted around itself as she searched for the right words to say.

After several minutes, [Y/N] spoke, voice bending and cracking with the weight of sorrow, “I’m sorry I… I didn’t come sooner, Kristen. I know how much punctuality meant to you. We were supposed to hang out… Several months ago.”

A cold breeze bit at the back of her neck, but she would not pull her hood up, as if to punish herself for the negligence of her friend. “It’s my fault you’re here now - you know that, right?”

Her brow crinkled, feeling the stinging behind her eyes. She could almost hear Kristen yelling at her from behind the tombstone.

_You know that’s not true. I wouldn’t be dead if it weren’t for_ **_Edward_ **.

She cringed, angling herself away from the grave just slightly, but the wind only served to draw more tears forward. It wasn’t _fair_ . [Y/N] didn’t deserve to be so heartbroken, and her friend _absolutely_ didn’t deserve to be swimming with the proverbial fishes.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t by your side when you needed me. He is an evil man - I knew that, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell you,” She said, her words becoming more and more strangled as she continued, “I should be in Arkham with the rest of the clinically insane - or at the very least in prison. I practically _let_ him kill you. I let him _murder_ my best friend.”

The babbling woman clutched a small, tin box in her hands, jostling inwardly with her guilt-ridden conscience. Stepping forward, she set the parcel just before the headstone, next to a few, stray, withered flowers. “I was going to bring you a bouquet, but I figured you’d appreciate this more.”

Fumbling, she opened the box, ignoring the teeth of winter air on her skin. Inside lie a newspaper clipping, showcasing Ed’s arrest, a small bag of generic, strawberry-flavored candies, a box of matches, a Beatles cassette tape, and a tube of chocolate pink lipstick.

“It’s cheesy, yeah, but I think about you a lot. The matches are because your hair is _fiery_ , by the way,” She explained, laughing slightly at her own expense, but the moment of mirth only served to make her feel more empty as it passed, “... I should probably get going - before my hands freeze off. Oh!-”

[Y/N] moved with a start, digging in her purse for something. After many moments of struggle, she pulled out a small figurine, placing it with the rest of her gifts, before shutting the lid tight.

Laughter crept back into her body with the tears, and she shook with both as she rose to her feet. “It’s a Santa Claus doll, my dear Saint Nicholas! I know you would hate me for leaving that with you, but you’re not allowed to feel sorry for me - I’m still as rotten, inappropriate, and unfunny as I was when you were alive.”

Several more minutes went by, but the female finally got out her parting words, “I’ll be back again soon to leave you some actual flowers, and check on your grave. I know you’d want it tidy.”

“... I just have one thing to ask, and I know it’s a lot - the afterlife, if there is one, is probably very busy, but I need to borrow some of your strength.”

Her tone deepened, as if trying to keep others from hearing her, “Please watch over me - protect me where I couldn’t protect you from this shithole city. Please forgive me for leaving you when it mattered most. Please help me recover from this - I don’t know if I can do it alone.”

With reluctance, she began to walk away, stopping only a second more to say goodbye, “You deserved so much better, Kristen Kringle. I love you to the end of the earth, and back again. Please sleep well.”


	4. Teased

For [Y/N], personally, the following weeks were filled with inactivity. She continued on her previous schedule as she’d been doing since her friend was killed, only making sure to at least _sometimes_ talk with the people outside of her apartment. There were some good films that she saw in theatre, though she spent the whole time snogging her girlfriend, and had only assumed that the movies were “good”. There were some sports games she cheered on, some museums she visited, some books she rented - but nothing felt normal. The manic woman was beginning to realize that she’d likely _never_ feel that way again.

More beers, more wine, more snakes at her spine, and the crucifix ever-taunting her from across the street.

For Gotham, however, the weeks were bigger than they’d been in recent history. They saw the escape of the Arkham _monsters_ (Nygma not included, thank the Lord), they saw the rise of Fish Mooney’s escapees (undead or otherwise), and, most importantly, the catapulting of Oswald Cobblepot to the mayoral throne.

[Y/N] had long since chosen to remain oblivious to the goings-on in her hometown, having spent an exorbitant amount of time with the news droning on in her empty headspace - politics, theft, murder, mass homicide, life-threatening magicians and several attempts at axing Jim Gordon and Bruce Wayne. Then there was Theo Galavan - even for a criminal, she didn’t like him. Had she not been too afraid to leave the house, she wouldn’t have voted for him. Not that it mattered, since no one else had been alive to challenge him.

Little did she know, her ignorance would be her downfall.

“Babe, you’ve got a letter!” Chryssie called from across the apartment, sauntering into sight with silky, pink pajamas floating around her form.

[Y/N] leaned backwards to peer over the cushy loveseat she sat on, her form having been curled up over a popular sci-fi novel. She dogeared the corner of the page and set the book down on the coffee table, her lips parting slightly in surprise. “Really? Who’s it from? Not many people have gotten the memo about my new address.”

The envelope was heavy - clearly a fancy type of cardstock. She glanced over the off-white surface, her eyes catching the tiny, decorative speckles that blended into the background like an impressionist painting. The return address read ‘City Hall’.

“ _Ugh_ , government letters,” [Y/N] growled, making her girlfriend turn towards her.

The larger woman tutted, then chuckled, reaching for a pot to boil pasta in. “You probably have jury duty. Aren’t you special, babe?”

Her groans of disdain intensified, but she sliced delicately into the package, pulling out the paper that rested inside. Cramped fingers unfolded the letter, and she cleared her throat dramatically,

“Dear valued citizen,

You have been invited to a celebration of Mayor Cobblepot’s victory in the recent elections. We have hand-selected a number of individuals based on their contributions to Gotham City. The mayor’s home welcomes you to join us this following Sunday, provided this message reaches you safely. It would be an honor to have you.

No reply is needed, and plus-ones are accepted.

Warmly,

Oswald Cobblepot & Team”.

The pair couldn’t help but laugh at the card, practically bent in half with hysteria.

Chrysanthemum broke through her giggles first, “No offense, [Y/N], but what have you ever done to help this city?”

The seated woman spoke between wheezes, “Well, I _was_ a member of the safety patrol in Junior High - clearly worthy of a Nobel Peace Prize.”

“You sure kept those hallways safe.”

“Hey! That was an important job! Think of all the collisions I stopped.”

“God forbid those clumsy preteens gently bump into each other.”

[Y/N] grew facetiously irate, “I prevented FATALITIES - I wore a BADGE! And a NEON VEST!”

Chrysanthemum paused for a moment before commenting, “Seriously, though, you probably got an invite for your work at the GCPD.”

Her partner rolled her eyes, tossing the letter onto the coffee table. “Oh yeah - my ‘work’ - delivering mochas.”

“Hey, now… We are only half as strong as our errand boys!” Chryssie exclaimed, stirring a spoon around in the pot of noodles that she’d nearly forgotten. “So what dress should I wear?”

The other woman sputtered, “W-What? I don’t want to go to this ‘party’! What if they make me wear a button? It probably wouldn’t even match my outfit. Not to mention…” She hesitated, grabbing the envelope again, pointing to the included address, “This guy isn’t celebrating in City Hall - he is partying in his house, which I’m _positive_ is filled with breakables!”

“They need a safety patroller to stop guests from running into their precious valuables.”

“A neon vest _really_ won’t match with _anything_ I own…”

And so the couple decided to attend the celebration - well, one did, and the other begrudgingly followed.

The mayor’s mansion was _indeed_ grand, and _filled_ with fragile objects. [Y/N] kept her arms locked close to her body, and her body away from the walls - it would be just her luck to accidentally break something.

Both women wore black dresses (“In case either of us needs to don that sacred vest.”), their skirts coming to rest just above the knee, with the rest of the bodice fitted to their personal shapes and tastes. [Y/N]’s outfit, while beautiful, was slightly more conservative than her partner’s. She wondered, anxiously, if it made her appear insecure.

Of course, nobody would think anything of it, but her paranoia was potent, personal, and positively irrational.

She kept a stiff arm locked into the larger woman’s, content to let herself be dragged around, as if Chryssie was the one invited in the first place. Bodies swam gracefully between each other, every person grinning like they were actually excited to be there - [Y/N] didn’t believe it.

After awhile of being at the party, she felt comfortable enough to unwind from her girlfriend and mingle with the unfamiliar faces.

Where were the people she knew? If other precinct employees weren’t there - why was the former secretary - who left without warning and refused to answer any and all calls about her absence - invited?

The neurosis settled in full-force this time, and her shaking hand found its way back to the crook of her lover’s right elbow. Between mingling, she whispered these misgivings frantically in Chrysanthemum’s ear, but only got scoffs in return.

Frustrated, she kept her further concerns bottled up, and neglected to speak to most of the people they were now passing by.

Eventually, the feedback of a microphone drew the party-goers’ attention to the front of the room. [Y/N]’s anxiety was somewhat soothed at the hush that fell over the crowd, her senses no longer being assaulted by unrelenting stimuli. A deep breath in, and back out - she was going to get through this.

A man limped up to the mic stand following an over-exuberant introduction from a colleague. He was rather short, for the typical grown male, and had the haircut of someone far too deep into their grunge phase. His grin was proud, bordering on arrogant, but she’d already seen him an innumerable amount of times. Hard to forget the face of a known criminal and gangster when he had shown up so frequently at her place of employment.

Oswald greeted his guests, offering a sincere welcome, “Thank you all for coming - it means the world to me that I have your support…”

[Y/N] tuned out his babbling, staring politely in his direction so as to feign alertness. Absentmindedly, she noted him talking about his mother, his campaign team, and those who voted for him. She swirled the champagne around in her glass, gaze now drawn to the bubbly drink as opposed to the new mayor. _Yeah, yeah - when is the buffet open? I’m starving._

“... And most of all, I want to thank my chief of staff, Edward Nygma, for believing in me, especially when it felt like no one else would. Without his faith - none of this would have been possible.”

But she didn’t hear anything past the moment when the mayor mentioned _his_ name. Suddenly petrified, [Y/N] bent to the floor, staying on her feet as she pretended to search for an earring. Chrysanthemum had already realized the issue, crouching next to her as well. Applause erupted around them, and the larger woman grasped her friend’s hand tightly, pulling her away from the noise, their escape hidden under the cover of the crowd.

[Y/N] broke into a near-run as soon as they were out of the room. Chryssie almost had to jog to keep up with her partner, not wanting to risk the two of them being separated. **_Especially_ ** _when she knew what was coming_.

With the other woman unaware, Chrysanthemum held her breath, waiting on the edge of her seat as they finally reached the exit.

“Isn’t it a little early to be fleeing the scene? We haven’t even served dinner yet.”

[Y/N] didn’t bother turning around, she immediately placed her hand on the doorknob, twisting it with purpose. And it moved - she wasn’t locked out at all, but her girlfriend’s hand on hers rooted her inside the building. Panicked, she cast an alarmed look at Chryssie, seriously debating whether or not she wanted to physically attack her partner, but the look in the other woman’s eyes stopped her from acting.

She could see the _devil_ in her peripherals, but she’d already made up her mind that if she didn’t look directly at him, maybe he’d cease to exist. Instead, her gaze bore deeply into her friend’s, finding grief, finding guilt, finding fear where she thought she’d find malice. Immediate remorse flooded through her - there was no way Chrysanthemum was doing this on purpose. She was no traitor.

 _What the_ **_fuck_ ** _did he do to her_?

Swallowing thickly, [Y/N] questioned her lover, “Can you tell me what’s going on? Did he hurt you?”

Chryssie’s face screwed up - silent, tense tears leaking down her cheeks. She tugged the smaller woman closer, grasping now with both hands. Her voice was quieter than feathers fluttering to the floor, “He didn’t hurt me… He said he didn’t care about me.” The couple’s eyes locked together. “But that if I cooperated, he wouldn’t hurt _you_.”

[Y/N]’s stomach dropped, and her palms twitched with an ugly anticipation. “You shouldn’t have worried about me. You should’ve taken care of yourself. I would never live it down if something happened to you. Maybe we could’ve gotten away.”

“You _know_ we wouldn’t get away. We wouldn’t make it outside of the city before he found us.”

“We could have _tried_ , Chrysanthemum! We could have _tried_! He’s not omnipotent-”

“He might as well be - what if we-”

Edward Nygma interjected himself back into the conversation, now standing only inches away from the couple. He fiddled with his cufflinks, giving a calculating, close-lipped smile to the both of them before he spoke, “If you two are done bickering, I have some things to attend to.” His large hand pressed against Chryssie’s shoulder, easily creating distance between the lovers. She looked confused, afraid - he enjoyed it. Always a pleasure to present dilemma to the simple-minded.

[Y/N] made a grab for her friend’s hands again, but was cut off from her side - a _criminally_ tall man instead taking her outstretched arms. She wouldn’t look at him. She couldn’t look at him. All she saw was the green of his suit tie, and even _that_ seemed to dissolve under the weight of her renewed trauma and overall dissociation.

“Wait, wait - what the hell are you doing?” Chrysanthemum called, trailing after the murderer as he pulled her girlfriend into a separate room, “You said you wouldn’t hurt her. Are you a liar _and_ a crook?”

For just a moment, she had his attention, and he turned to her with a flourish, hands still tugging the stumbling [Y/N] along. Edward’s smile was dazzling as he quipped, “Naturally.”

Chryssie was removed from the mayor’s grounds shortly afterward, not being given the chance to get a word in edgewise. She caught her best friend’s gaze before a closed door blocked her from sight. Never before had she seen someone more shell-shocked in her lifetime, and she never would again. After hours of waiting outside the mansion gates, she hailed a taxi, choosing to return home after the guards threatened to call the cops on her.

[Y/N] could only _wish_ that she were being arrested. The hard, unforgiving seat of a police car would have been a welcome comfort against the capture of Nygma.

“I honestly hadn’t expected you to run away so quickly after that day. Smart of you, though - I was a little busy with some _things_ anyways,” Ed started, releasing one of her wrists in favor of sending a short text message. He held up a finger for a moment, as if telling her to quell her thoughts until he was finished typing.

She didn’t have any thoughts. She didn’t have any senses. Everything seemed just a little too far away from where she was standing. All she saw, all she could concentrate on was _red_ \- and it was probably her own blood, as opposed to his, that was painted across her psyche.

Long fingers folded the phone closed, placing it in his left pocket with an uncanny amount of grace. He ran a thumb along the inside of [Y/N]’s arm, humming idly.

They came to a stalemate, neither bringing forth any conversation for the sake of letting the other suffer. Unfortunately, for the smaller of the two, Edward had all the power in the situation, and he intended to get what he wanted. ~~He~~ ~~_always_ got what he wanted. ~~

She let out a yelp, trying to pull her wrist out of his grasp as a dull thumbnail started digging angry, red circles into her skin. Her failed attempt at release only served to make his scratching all the more painful, his nail dragging down the length of her forearm as she closed her free hand around his, grabbing his middle finger and yanking it backwards until it nearly touched his carpals.

Ed let her go, his finger on the brink of breaking, and took a surprised step backwards at her sudden display of violence. He looked her up and down - this was not the same woman he left in the precinct basement, crying over her dead friend and chained to some leaky pipes. She had vanished to a far corner of the closed room, soothing the angry marks on her arm like a feral cat, licking its wounds.

[Y/N]’s lips curled back over her teeth, and she snarled as she spoke to him, “You should have _died_ in Arkham, you evil, conniving _bastard._ ” Her breaths came in heavy pants, scraping past her teeth so sharply that the nerves behind her enamel started to ache. “You deserve to suffer for the rest of your life, and then you should be brought back from the dead so you can suffer _all over again_.”

Something dark - darker than usual - passed through his scrutinizing, brown eyes. She saw the tightness in his jaw, the flexing in his neck. For a second, her fear and rage-induced bravery wavered, but she swallowed, a flagrant attempt at steeling herself against Edward.

But he didn’t advance on her, allowing the frightened woman her space, if only to help push her guard down. He kept himself in check, positive that the end would justify the means.

“I’ll allow you that one. I’m sure that you aren’t happy to see me,” He deflected, settling the topic back on [Y/N], “So how are you? It’s been quite a long time since we last met.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she took another step backwards, hands reaching out behind her for any unseen obstacles. “I think you know how I’ve been, Nygma.”

Ed clicked his tongue at her indignance, flashing a smile that hardly reached his cold, _dead_ eyes. “Now, how are we going to understand one another if you won’t communicate with me. We didn’t keep in touch - how would I know what’s been going on in your life?”

“Because you’re smart. You know you’re smart. _I_ know you’re smart,” She snapped, “What good does it do to tell someone what they already know?”

Another smile - this time _twice_ as unfeeling, as unforgiving. “Humor me.”

It didn’t sound like an invitation. Everything Edward said sounded like an ultimatum. She didn’t know what she’d be sacrificing if she refused to play his games. What were the rules? How did she participate if she didn’t know what the penalties and rewards were? Her head hurt.

“I’ve been terrible,” [Y/N] started, words clipped and enunciated, but she thought better of her decision to enlighten him, “I haven’t been sleeping well. There is a draft in my bedroom.”

She watched him nod, his face feigning grief, feigning sympathy. He’d gotten his hair cut since going to prison - the shaved sides and voluminous top made his cheekbones all-the-more severe, his features all-the-more sharp. Ed had seemingly shed his geeky exterior in favor of a more threatening, business-like persona. It was sensible, she supposed, being that he was the mayor’s chief of staff - but it was much easier to have courage against a mathlete than a mobster. The woman found herself missing the days when _she_ got to be the bully. If she’d known how events would pan out, perhaps she would’ve been _meaner_ to him.

Begrudgingly, she wondered if being nice would’ve helped at all. It was likely that any kindness shown towards him would’ve resulted in a different, more co-dependent type of fixation.

_He’s a murderer, a terrorist, a liar, a cheat, a thief, a hypocrite, a traitor, an abuser - there is no need to feel sorry for him, not even in retrospect._

He hummed, drawing the attention of his verbal opponent. “How tragic,” Edward mocked, his feet beginning to creep in her direction, “Sleep is very important to the human body, Miss [L/N]. Perhaps you need better insulation in your home? I could get you some help with that.”

“I’m quite alright, thank you. My girlfriend and I simply wear a few more layers,” [Y/N] vibrated, leaning away from him, but not wanting to box herself in a corner again.

He stopped in his forward assault about two feet in front of her. “Ah - yes, your girlfriend. You know you’re lucky, right?”

She refused to feed into his taunting, angry with herself for even mentioning Chryssie. “Yes. Very lucky. She’s terrific.”

“ _Chrysanthemum_ \- a lovely name for a lovely person,” Ed drawled, caring little whether or not this woman played into his words, “She looked at her most lovely when she was _begging for your life_.”

He’d barely gotten his words through before [Y/N] launched herself at him, catching the lanky man around the waist and toppling the both of them. She reacted far quicker than he did, taking his shock as an opportunity force her palm into the underside of his nose. The man beneath her let out a cry of pain, and _god_ did she relish that sound. It was even better the second time, when she closed both of her fists and smashed them down across the middle of his face.

He was reeling from the affliction, but thought rapidly, using her lack of grip to throw the woman off of him. This was not going as he had planned. Edward had to regain control of the situation before she ruined his plot any further. The towering male clambered back to his feet, hand pressed against his visage to soothe the aching.

[Y/N] had found footing long before he had, and used the discrepancy to put distance between them once more. “Did that hurt, you fucking _moron_ ?” She growled, spit flying from her lips, cheeks flushed a deep shade of maroon, “I’ve seen middle-schoolers with more guts than _you_.”

His eyes narrowed, and he let go of his nose in a fit of egotism that he couldn’t quite catch - not that he’d ever been good at that. He sniffed, reaching for his pocket handkerchief, “Impressive, Miss [L/N], I must say that I’ve been caught quite off guard. Are you legally prepared to deal with me when I press charges against you?” Nimble fingers folded the kerchief long-ways, and he dabbed lightly at the blood that dripped from his nostrils. “I imagine your wallet isn't very well-lined from selling _coffee_.”

She didn’t flinch at his threats. “Go ahead - sue me. Send me to prison. I _dare_ you,” [Y/N] barked, her hands still balled into tight, angry fists, “The only place I can think of that would keep me safer from you is _death_.”

“Death is not a place - it is a state of being.” Ed was then quiet for a moment, his head already leaps and bounds ahead of the woman. She was brave, yes, but she was still an _idiot_. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” He quipped, his rhetoric short as he started circling around to his opponent’s side.

She mirrored him, stalking in the opposite direction to avoid letting him get too close. Her palms were beginning to sweat. Maybe she’d managed to land a good punch, but she would never be able to match him in an intellectual battle. He underestimated her - she knew that - and it was probably the only advantage she had against him.

His long legs stopped in their assault, and he changed directions, heading towards the door that they’d only just entered through. With a twist of the knob, it was open, and he stepped to the side, gesturing for her to exit.

[Y/N] squinted at him. “What the hell are you doing?”

Edward didn’t hesitate to answer. “You’re free to go.”

Her mind shut down entirely, her fists uncurled, her face unscrewed. “I’m _free_ to _go_?”

Momentarily, his indifferent expression darkened. “Don’t make me repeat myself - I didn’t stutter.”

“Just what are you playing at? What am I going to find if I go out there?” Contrary to his offer of escape, she moved further away from Ed, his sudden complacence _painfully_ suspicious.

“I’m not playing at anything. You want to leave, and I’m offering you a chance to leave.”

“That’s a load of bullshit - we both know it. What reason do I have to trust you?”

He smiled, his face lacking warmth almost entirely. In fact, the man’s personality seemed encapsulated in sub-zero temperatures. “I’m not asking for your trust, Miss [L/N], it’s something I simply don’t require…” Brown eyes settled idly on their prey, an unfriendly sort-of mirth lacing their irises. “What I’m _asking_ is for an unwelcome woman to leave the mayor’s home.”

She bristled, but didn’t bother to test his patience any longer. Though reluctant, her unsteady legs drew past the hateful, worthless man, and she heard him follow her out of the room.

He watched her as she stiffly made her way down the front steps, [Y/N]’s entire body alight with anxiety. She paused for a moment, taking a glance backwards at him, and Edward tilted his head in acknowledgement. “I’ll be seeing you, Miss.”

Her steps quickened after his goodbye, and she had to hold back tears until she was off the property.

Chrysanthemum didn’t let go of her for a second that night, and in the following couple of weeks, she watched her companion deteriorate faster than she had after Kristen’s death.

[Y/N] quit her job. She canceled her gym membership. She gave away and donated practically all of her belongings, no matter their worth, not matter their sentimentality. She stopped speaking with friends. She stopped speaking with neighbors. She stopped leaving the apartment. She stopped communicating with her girlfriend. She stopped smiling. It hardly seemed like she breathed anymore, and she _definitely_ didn’t sleep.

When slumber took even a moment to grace her eyelids, all she saw was Edward Nygma. It was a nightmare that she could neither wake from, nor rest from.

The familiar shape of a beer bottle found its way back into her limp grip, her body conforming into the chair that she’d spent so many long days rotting in. Tired eyes found their way back to the Catholics wandering in and out of the cathedral. And the will to live lost its way back to her heart.

She was exhausted in her lethargy. All she did was think - of ways to escape, of ways to beat him, of ways to recover, of ways to get help. There was an outright guarantee that if she even attempted to contact the police, it could mean death for the woman she loved - [Y/N] didn’t have to ask Nygma to figure that out. He meant to see her again. No one could offer sanctuary from a man that seemed to have buried his grubby hands in every niche of Gotham City. So quickly he’d managed it, too.

A happy family walked out of the doors to the church, smiles on their faces and their heads in the clouds. Inwardly, she asked herself if even _God_ _himself_ could save her from Ed’s disgusting, bruising clutches.

She asked herself again.

She asked herself again.

She asked herself again.

Her tongue darted out to run across chapped lips, and she set the beer bottle on the side table, rising slowly from her seat. Bare feet brought her to meet the broad face of the packed, homey-looking bookshelf. Her fingers skimmed the bindings, looking for something particular. After several moments of searching, she felt it - a worn, faux-leather covering, a little handle sticking out for ease of transport. She pulled the book from its space in the collection, warming her palm over the canvas as she brought it back to her seat, opening the aged pages with care.

Her eyes did not comprehend anything they were reading, she was so wrapped up in her thoughts. This was her chance. Maybe she could get away with this - ' _God-willing_ '.


	5. Tipped

The next morning, she put on a plain dress that extended just past her knees, made her hair appear presentable, and made way to the church. [Y/N] had used the phone just for a few minutes yesterday, attempting to find the cathedral’s number from the directory. When she got the information she needed, she made contact and asked when confession was.

Lucky for her, it was sooner than she’d hoped.

The confession booth was small and claustrophobia-inducing, and her paranoia rang vicious bells all around her psyche. She swallowed her fear, however, and crossed herself. “Forgive me, father, for I have sinned,” Her tone was low, quivering, “It’s been… Probably close to a decade since my last confession.” Was it doubly wrong to lie to a priest?

She interrupted herself, “Pardon me, father… That wasn’t honest.”

“Take your time, daughter. I am listening,” The priest calmly replied, his age-wizened voice spreading over her like a warm breeze.

“I’m not Catholic. I have never been,” [Y/N] breathed, trying vainly to soothe her nerves, “I’ve never been to confession, nor would I know how to give confession…”

He did not speak, and so she continued.

“I’m am guilty of a great many things, father, and I don’t know that I’d ever personally been able to atone for them, but I need help,” She said, fighting through the strangle of tears, “I wrote down what I have to say… It might not be safe to say such things out loud. Forgive me.” Her fingers pressed a well-folded piece of paper through the decorative gaps in the confession booth, hoping beyond hope that he would accept it.

The priest took the note from the woman, taking just a few short minutes to read it in its entirety. He made a small sound of grief, of pity, and received a small sob in return for his acknowledgment. “Is this what you need me to do, my daughter?

[Y/N]’s cries became ugly, sloppy, but she couldn’t help it. Her heart was so shattered, so suffocated beyond repair. It seemed like a century had passed since a stranger had so easily offered their assistance. “Please, please - it’s all I could ever ask for. I’m so scared, I’m so-”

“You need not plead any longer. It shall be done as you have asked,” He interjected softly, and she heard him rise from his place, and step quietly from the booth.

She did not follow. She didn’t want to leave the sudden comfort of the tiny room that protected her from unwanted stimuli. She didn’t want to leave the little box of forgiveness for a world that was tinged with green.

When the priest returned, he extended his hand towards her, and guided the woman from her hiding place. His expression was grave, and he could barely stand to look at her.

Her blood went cold. She’d been so close. She could’ve tasted freedom only seconds ago, just to have it snatched from her needy grip.

The father undid his collar, frustration in hands that had been so peaceful for so long. He gripped the cross that rested around his neck, and gracefully removed it, before turning to place it around the head of [Y/N]. It pained him to see the look of confusion, of loss in her eyes.

“God has forgiven you, daughter, and I must ask that you forgive me in return,” The priest lamented, before turning away from her, “It seems it is no longer my place to offer advice - but may you also forgive yourself.”

He would not make a return to his place in the Catholic church.

An old, feeble nun gripped her by the elbow, gently leading her into a side room, away from all the stained glass and overused pews. She sat her down at a table; a simple, landline phone lie in its round center. The nun’s hands grasped [Y/N]’s shoulders just moments before she left her alone.

With bated breath, the isolated woman awaited his call. When the phone finally rang, she still hadn’t fully prepared herself, listening to the ring for several seconds more, her teeth gnawing at the skin of her knuckles until her lips were painted with blood. There would be no ignoring him. She picked up the phone and did not speak.

“Once again, you color me surprised, Miss [L/N]. Using a priest to do your dirty work? Terrible. I hope you don’t mind that I took a page out of your book, then,” Edward began, sounding quite like a man who had just won the jackpot, “Don’t bother responding. Just follow my instructions, and no one will be hurt. You have _God_ as my witness.”

She couldn’t breathe. She wished that she wouldn’t.

His voice was crisp, commanding, “Turn around. There is a set of stairs - take them to the top. When you get to the balcony, wait for further direction.”

[Y/N] didn’t move - she didn’t want to, certainly, but her legs felt like gelatin just sitting down, how would they ever carry her all that way?

Edward didn’t relent, barking into the receiver, “Move - now!”

She scrambled to her feet, dropping the phone on the table and beginning her ascent. Flights passed her by, and she peered out of the windows as she marched towards whatever fate was sure to meet her. The people below were busy - probably content, and absolutely oblivious to her peril. In one of her frequent moments of morbidity, she saw her intestines decorating the cathedral spires, painting the church’s outside walls with the blood of a sinner.

_This isn’t your fault, you didn’t deserve this. This isn’t your fault, you didn’t deserve this. This isn’t your fault, you didn’t deserve this._

In the middle of the balcony sat another telephone, its winding cord disappearing off towards a distant wall. When it rang this time, she didn’t hesitate to pick it up.

“Nicely done - you’ve proved you can follow instructions, imbecile,” Ed vibrated, the sick sound of joy clearly evident in his words, “What I will ask you to do next is very simple. When I hang up, you will climb onto the balcony ledge. I hope your balance is good, [Y/N], but you won’t be there for long.”

She spoke lowly into the phone, “Do you want me to jump? Is that what you’re looking for? Cause... I’m not exactly afraid of heights…”

“Did I tell you to jump? Clearly I’ve overestimated your ability to listen. I would say that insubordination deserves punishment, but we’ll have plenty of time for that later,” He chattered, hardly able to contain his excitement.

“Just looking out for you, Eggma. I know you want this to be as painful as possible.”

“It’s adorable to see you pretend to know anything about me,” Ed teased, completely ignoring her jab before his tone grew serious again, forceful, “Get on the ledge, or people will die.”

He hung up before [Y/N] had the chance to ask who he planned to hurt. She placed the phone lightly back in its place and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress. In her overwhelmed state, she nearly forgot to be afraid, but the knocking of her knees together reminded her that she was still wasn’t as strong as she needed to be. Could she not be like Jim Gordon? Or Chryssie? Or Kristen? Or the priest? Why did she crumble when it mattered most? Why couldn’t she stand her ground? Tears rampaged down her face for the zillionth time in the past months, and she pressed her hands to the stone ledge, pushing herself up onto it.

Her eyes were immediately trained downwards, the safety of the confessional booth was now light years away. She calculated that the balcony was roughly over one-hundred feet in the air, and that a nice tumble onto the thin rug below would effectively kill her. The prospect of death was tempting, tantalizing, and the urge rested against the small of her back. [Y/N] stared at the pews, all aligned in perfect little rows for the masses to gather in during sermons. She imagined, like she always did, that none of this had happened to her. Kristen hadn’t died, Jim Gordon never went to prison, her sanity was never stolen, and Edward Nygma was never born.

The fantasy had yet to fail at comforting her.

An acronym was what broke through her daydream, an acronym that she’d heard for a generally happy several months of her life. In any other situation, perhaps it would have been a blessing to hear those four letters.

“G-C-P-D!” A strong, booming voice cracked the foundations of her reverie, bringing the woman back down to Earth with a figurative splat.

Jim Gordon gazed up from the ground floor of the church, seeing the teetering form of [Y/N] [L/N], a former coworker that he’d known so little of during her time at the precinct. Cursing to himself, he started for the stairs, his partner taking the lead in coaxing her down.

“Miss [L/N], we are here to help you!” Harvey Bullock called upwards, raising his voice despite the silence of the cathedral, “Suicide is not the answer - please step down from the ledge, and we will get you the assistance you need!”

Typical Harvey. He was well-meaning, but not completely helpful. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his words, fighting the urge to laugh out loud. No one appeared to notice, however, thanks to the distance between them. She put her hands up in surrender, turning just slightly to step back onto the level ground, when she spotted the slithering form of Edward Nygma, winding his way between the officers behind Bullock.

Suddenly, she remembered why the implications of suicide had been so tempting. He stared up at her, his expression unreadable regardless of her vantage point. What alarmed her most was the curling of his right arm through the crook of her girlfriend’s elbow.

She let out a cry of frustration, of exasperation - would [Y/N] never be free of this man? Would her friends ever be safe? Would she ever have control of her life again?

While she would have loved to continue her turmoil over taking a leap, the strong arms of James Gordon wrapped around her middle, tugging her, unwilling, from the balcony ledge. Having just breached the boundaries of hysteria, she let out a deafening shriek, catching the marble rim with the tips of her fingers, stopping Jim from tearing her away from what felt like the only escape she had left.

The detective’s brow furrowed at her resistance, but he knew he shouldn’t be surprised. She was a woman in distress - distress that reached the point of wanting to die. Inwardly, he tried not to think about how close he’d been to the same position in the recent past.

Granted, he’d been hypnotized by a psychotic madman, but it didn’t mean the impulse wasn’t there. A part of him considered her reasons, to which he’d collected just a few, and wondered if she was being coerced as he was.

He pushed the thought into the back of his head for later, pulling firmly on the woman’s waist until she lost her grip on the ledge. What really surprised him, however, was how rapidly her hands went from the stone to his eyes. Jim let out a grunt of pain, his face pinching together in an attempt to avoid the assault, his arms still wrapped around her to keep the woman from jumping. What hurt more than her fingernails against his face, was how goddamn loud she was screeching.

“You can’t do this to me. I have nowhere else to go!” [Y/N] screamed, battering around the man’s head, frantic in her attempt to get him off of her. This would likely be the last chance she got in a long, long time - if she had any idea where she was headed.

The struggle didn’t last much longer. A few more officers joined Gordon’s side, one of them making an executive decision to tase the suicidal woman. She immediately dropped, stiff like a board, but the cop held it for almost fifteen of the thirty recommended seconds before Jim reprimanded him.

“Officer, stand down,” He bellowed, lying [Y/N] on the ground before she could get hurt during the fall. When he was sure his colleague had stopped, he leaned down to check on the female who’d been so keen on dying just moments before. With help, James pulled her back to her feet, letting her use him as a crutch.

As they started to lead her downstairs, she grappled with her feelings, with her body, with her tongue - mostly unable to form words. This was the only time she’d be separate enough from Edward to tell them what was going on. But was he listening? How would she know? Was his plan still to hurt innocents if she didn’t cooperate, as she’d done thus far (she assumed)? Had she even cooperated at all? What was for dinner?

[Y/N]’s teeth were clicking and chattering far too much for her to even attempt to speak in the first place. She didn’t quite feel herself getting tased - or at least didn’t feel the electricity coursing through her - but she definitely felt the effects. Her muscles locked up all over her body - head to toe, and back again. Screams of pain, of terror, of confusion - they tore up her throat and sat, paralyzed, underneath her tongue. She had said so many things, asked so many questions, pleaded for them to stop hurting her, but she was dumbstruck, and in reality, said nothing at all. Now that the tasing had ceased, she felt around her cottonmouth for the syllables that had been so deeply swallowed.

This wasn’t the first time she’d been tased. Curious fifteen-year-olds tend to do stupid things around unsupervised stun guns. One that was used for public defense, however - it was a little more effective. Consciously, she knew that it didn’t particularly hurt, but the sensation was so very, very uncomfortable. And while she would never go out of her way to get electrocuted again, if the opportunity arose in a social situation, [Y/N] probably would. Stupid? Yes, but she enjoyed playing devil’s advocate for the sake of experience.

Maybe that made her a little like Edward, she thought, but there was an incredibly fine line between playing devil’s advocate, and just being the devil.

Was it appropriate to think about the devil in God’s house?

In her mental limbo, she’d missed her chance entirely to tell the cops what was going on. If the walk had taken any longer, the battered woman probably would’ve forgotten what was happening in the first place. They rounded the corner, coming back into the central chamber of the church, and [Y/N] was greeted with a new perspective on the place that she’d nearly jumped from. Suddenly, ghostly images of her fallen corpse spread across her cerebrum, painting the wooden benches with her blood. She promptly bent in half, her vomit narrowly missing Jim’s shiny combat boots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is taking so long, kiddies. I again had to cut this chapter in half to save you from a feat of near-endless scrolling. Anyways, thanks for waiting. Leave me a comment, even if it's just you smashing your keyboard. Story also available on my writing blog: http://writersindigestion.tumblr.com/  
> \- loserless

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoyed. Leave a kudos or a comment - it would be much appreciated.  
> Story also available on my writing blog: http://writersindigestion.tumblr.com/  
> \- loserless


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